The Admiral and the Commander
by pixelatrix
Summary: A series of moments between Hackett & Shepard, all one-shots that encompass ME1 - ME3. There will be potential spoilers. Rated M - mostly for language, and maybe other things in some of the stories.
1. 1 Of All The Bars

**Of All The Bars**

**This has been floating around in my head for a while. We know that Hackett told Shepard to be ready when Earth called, and we know that Shepard was in the Detention Center, but I always wondered what exactly happened when Shepard arrived. Just a silly little one-shot.**

**It's the first in a series of one-shots that I am going to put under the title, The Commander and The Admiral. All about Shepard & Hackett, some romance, some not. Please review and let me know if there are any particular "moments" that you'd like to see. Or any prompts you'd love to see turned into a story.**

**Bioware still owns all, sadly.**

**Major props to my fabulous beta - **Luminara Unduli

**Read. Enjoy. Review. **

"Fill her up, Ted." Shepard waved her empty glass at the bartender.

At 0600 hours, she was turning herself in to the now promoted Admiral Anderson at Alliance Headquarters. It was, she supposed, their idea of a favor, letting her mentor handle the arrest. Getting totally shitfaced had sounded like a brilliant idea three hours ago; now she wasn't so sure. She looked down to find the glass still empty. Tapping it on the bar, she tried her drunken upmost to get the attention of the bartender who seemed to be sprouting a second head.

"Shit," she muttered as she tried to force her eyes to focus. "Last time this happened to me, a Batarian had laced my poison with wine."

"I'm cutting you off, Red." Ted, the bartender, gently pried the glass from her hand. "I'm calling a cab for you."

"Red?" Shepard tilted her head at him in confusion, almost falling off the chair. "Oh yea, I've got red hair. It's shiny too. Yours isn't shiny."

"You've definitely had enough." Ted pulled up his omnitool to send a message. He glanced back to find Shepard face down on the bar asleep. "Light weight."

It took twenty minutes for her ride to show up. Admiral Hackett stepped out of his personal shuttle in front of The Tavern, a popular bar amongst the Alliance enlisted and officers. He walked inside and immediately spotted a familiar redhead asleep at the far end of the bar. Ted waved him over while pouring a few shots for a table of off-duty marines.

"Steven." Ted shook his hand.

"Been a long time," Hackett said with a smile before glancing again at the sleeping Shepard. "How long has she been like this?"

"Not long, I cut her off before she could do permanent damage to her liver." Ted slid a glass of lager down the bar to another patron. "Figured after she fell asleep, it might be a good idea to give you a call."

"Appreciate it," Hackett remarked. "How much does she owe for the shots?"

Ted waved his attempt to pay off. "Your money's no good here, Steven. And she's a fucking war hero, don't give a damn what the idiots in charge say."

"Thanks Ted." Hackett remarked, and then with the bartender's help, carried her out to his waiting shuttle.

"I know you," Shepard woke up as he was easing her into the shuttle. "You're much taller in person."

"Taller?" he asked as he got in beside her.

She glanced at him then let her head fall back against the seat with a thud. She held up her right finger and thumb an inch apart, squinting at the fingers to get the measurement right. "Yep, usually, you're about theeees big on the comm."

"Right."

"You have pretty eyes." She turned her head to stare intently at him. "Blue. Shiny."

"Shiny?" He resisted the urge to laugh.

"Shiny. All the good things in life are shiny, have you ever noticed that?" She nodded. "Nodding is bad. Everything spins around. You've got a great voice too, all gravely and shit."

"Gravely and shit?" He didn't bother to smother the laugh as he pulled into his home just outside of the Alliance compound.

"Uhuh," Shepard dozed off, and then her eyes snapped back open. "Rat bastards."

"Pardon?" he asked as he helped her up and into his house. He had the distinct feeling that this would be a very long, very amusing evening.

She collapsed onto the couch in his living room, "The dancing hamsters, rattiest bastards on the planet."

"Hamsters?"

She turned her head towards him slowly, "I see you. I see two of you. I didn't know you had a twin…everyone has twins today. Ted had a twin. Teeeedddd. T-E-D. Small name for a tall bartender. Everyone's taller than me, s'not fair."

"So how much of that whiskey did you have to drink?" He asked as he eased himself into a chair across from her.

"No clue," she stared at him for a moment before adding. "I find you very attractive; cranky, but attractive."

Hackett raised his eyes to the ceiling while counting to ten. "Maybe you should try to catch some sleep before you say something that you'll be embarrassed about later."

"S'nothing wrong with liking older men." She mumbled as her eyes drifted shut.

He started to respond but changed he mind when she started snoring. He draped a blanket over her, gently brushed the hair off her face and finally turned off the lights. "I'll keep the monsters at bay."

*Twelve Hours Later*

"Oh fuck me." Shepard shot off the couch like a bullet, and immediately collapsed back onto the couch clutching her head with both hands. She peered around the room with half open eyes, memories of the last however many hours were hazy at best. She winced as a light filtered in through the half closed curtains. "The light…it burns us."

"Welcome back to the land of the living." Hackett smiled sympathetically as he stepped into the room. He handed her water and a couple pills. "Here, this might help with the hangover."

"Admiral?" She glanced up at him confused and then like a bucket of ice to the head the memories from the previous night came rushing back. "Oh dear god."

"Problem?" He stepped towards her with a concerned look on his face.

She shook her head. "Let's just call it drinker's remorse, and a sudden embarrassingly clear memory of last night. We'll leave it at that."

"You were rather…talkative." He smiled at her.

"Oh shit," she glanced over at the clock on the wall. "I'm late for my own trial. That is not going to go over well."

"I pulled rank on the council. You aren't due to appear at the detention center until tomorrow morning. Anderson wasn't amused, but he's almost never amused when I exercise my authority." His smile widened. "So…we've established that you like my voice, eyes and that I am occasionally cranky."

Shepard's fingers rubbed her temples as she waited for the meds to kick in. "You do tend to get cranky whenever I blow shit up. Anderson just frowns at me."

"He frowns at everyone," he remarked with a laugh. "So…older men?"

Shepard's fingers moved from her temples to cover her face. Temporarily shielded from view, she pondered her dilemma. She could blame everything on the whiskey. It would be the easy way out. There were Alliance regs about fraternization; she remembered them all quite vividly. Then again, if she was going to be court martialled for destroying a relay and some Batarians, fraternization seemed a little less worrisome. Her hands dropped from her face as she stood then walked with measured steps over to wear Hackett was standing. Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt, yanking him closer so that she could answer his question with a kiss.

"Is that clear enough for you, Admiral?" She stepped back, releasing his shirt with exaggerated care taking a moment to smooth out the wrinkles with her hands.

"Crystal."


	2. 2 In Memoriam

**In Memoriam **

**This is the second in my series of one-shots for my Admiral & Commander series. I always found Shepard's lonely walk through the wreck of the Normandy to be rather tragic. I wanted to play with that a little. This one-shot assumes that Shepard & Hackett were in a relationship of sorts before the Normandy SR1 went boom.**

**Please review and let me know if there are any particular "moments" that you'd like to see. Or any prompts you'd love to see turned into a story.**

**The poem mentioned is For The Fallen by** Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

**Bioware still owns all, sadly.**

**Major props to my fabulous beta - **Luminara Unduli

**Read. Enjoy. Review. **

There is a moment in every officer's career that counts as the biggest failure on their resume. Stepping off the shuttle onto Alchera, Shepard surveyed the Normandy wreckage with a sense of a heavy burden that she had never felt before. The lives lost here were undoubtedly the greatest failure of her command on the SR1. She knelt down to find a pair of dog tags hidden underneath the rubble, brushing off the dust and ice to reveal the first name of the twenty missing crew members that she had promised to find.

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning  
We will remember them_

There were twenty tags in total; twenty prayers and twenty more reasons why she couldn't fail this time even if the Alliance and Council refused to stand by her side. Her helmet was the inevitable straw that broke the camel's back. It was hard to stare into the depths of one's own mortality. It was a stark reminder that the enemy she was facing had already won the first fight. Cerberus had played with science and brought her back for a second round. She wasn't quite ready to delve too deeply into how she felt about the whole resurrection thing.

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning  
We will remember them_

The battered helmet rested gently in her hands as she carefully made her way back through the debris to the Cerberus shuttle. She rounded the corner to find an Alliance shuttle parked next to hers. There was an Alliance officer leaning back against the shuttle. The helmet concealed any identifying features but the marks on the armor revealed the rank of Lieutenant-Commander. She moved the helmet to her left arm and un-holstered her pistol just in case. The Alliance hadn't proven to be on her side so far.

"I come in peace, Commander Shepard." He held up his hands with a smile that she heard more than saw.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Lieutenant-Commander." She re-holstered her weapon. "What can I do for the Alliance?"

"If you wouldn't mind stepping aboard the shuttle, ma'am, I'd prefer to scan you for any Cerberus bugs before I converse with you further." He moved to the side and motioned to the now open shuttle door.

She frowned at him for a moment, and then remembered with the helmet the frown was pointless. With a sharp nod, she stepped onto the shuttle only to spin around when the door slammed shut behind her. Her hand was on her pistol as she slowly glanced around the room and finally found another Alliance officer seated in the back of the shuttle, face hidden by his helmet. With the doors sealed, Shepard was able to remove her helmet as she cautiously inched further into the shuttle.

"Scanning," the shuttle's VI broke the silence, as the scan continued the officer slowly removed his helmet. "Scan complete. All clear."

Shepard's helmet fell to the floor as she stared in stunned amazement at the man before her. He rushed forward and took her face in his hands. His forehead rested gently against hers for a moment, as he breathed in deeply. His fingers traced the new scars on her face that were still fading. They moved across her brow where her old scars had been. The scars that he had gently kissed just days before the Normandy had been destroyed were completely gone. She could've sworn that there were tears in his eyes as he leaned back to get a better look at her. They were gone before she was certain and his lips on hers erased all further thought on the matter.

"Forgive my XO for being overly cautious. He wanted to be certain that you were…you," Admiral Hackett remarked as he touched a gentle hand to the tear tracks on her cheeks that her helmet had hidden. "I tried to get here sooner; didn't want you to face the dead alone."

She shrugged lightly as she stepped back from his embrace. There were none of the questions in his eyes that she had seen in Anderson's face, or heard in Tali's words. Even Garrus for all his statements to the contrary, his first words had held just a moment of hesitation. Dr. Chakwas had scanned her that first trip to Med-Bay under the guise of wanting to check the implants. And in the hidden parts of her heart, Shepard had harbored questions herself on whether she was real or just a clone. The questions were perhaps proof of the opposite: would a clone or Cerberus-controlled version of herself question her own existence? It was enough to make anyone's head spin.

"You weren't cautious?"

A strong hand grasped her arm and yanked her against him, holding her tightly against his chest. "Always. Never."


	3. 3 Gone

**Gone**

**This is another in my series of one-shots for my Admiral & Commander series. I hope I can do this story justice. Also, just a note for readers, these one-shots aren't necessarily connected. They are just random stories/moments involving Hackett and Shepard. **

**Please review and let me know if there are any particular "moments" that you'd like to see. Or any prompts you'd love to see turned into a story.**

***Poem by John McCrae**

**Bioware still owns all, sadly.**

**Major props to my fabulous beta - **Luminara Unduli

**Read. Enjoy. Review. **

The rebuilding of an Alliance fleet that had been partly decimated by Saren and his Geth army was no easy feat. Admiral Hackett had spent the last few months on Arcturus Station coordinating the reconstruction efforts. The task weighed heavily on his shoulders as did the fact that Shepard had been sent off to hunt the last remaining Geth. He despised the politics of it all. The pointless mission grated against him as did the fact that she was so many systems away.

With great effort and a deep sigh, he pushed away the thoughts that always threatened to surface when his mind turned to the enigmatic Shepard. He forced himself to focus on the various datapads strewn about his desk. Progress was continually slowed by bureaucratic nonsense and the reports in front of him weren't much more than visual proof of invisible red tape. He was knee deep in the reports when the intercom buzzed with a request from his XO. The urgent edge to his voice had Hackett rushing from his quarters to the Comm room.

"You'll want to hear this, Sir," Major Jamieson remarked as he lined up the incoming transmission.

Hackett stared in silent horror as a mayday call echoed through the room.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday," Joker's panicked voice was unmistakable. "This is SSV Normandy! We've suffered heavy damage from an unknown enemy."

There was a brief moment of static silence that was pierced by what sounded like a massive explosion, and then a solitary voice that was screaming a single name. Shepard. Then nothing, it was a crippling silence for an Admiral who had seen the decimation of a third of his fleets.

"We've lost contact with the Normandy." Jamieson spoke into the silence. "We're picking up faint signals from escape pods. It looks like we've lost the Normandy, Sir."

The next few hours were the longest of his career to date. If it was humanly possible, Hackett felt like he hadn't taken a breath since the moment he'd heard the Mayday call from the Normandy. Several cruisers had been immediately scrambled to the last known location to search for survivors. Being on Arcturus had never really seemed like a drawback until now; he was forced to watch and listen to others hunt for the escape pods.

The vids that were sent back from the fleet were grim to say the least. The Normandy had been completely decimated. It was a miracle that so many had survived. No matter how many times that he read through the list of survivors, it never changed. Shepard was on the list of Missing in Action and/or Killed in Action. Joker had been in a near state of hysteria when he'd been found but the one thing he had insisted on was the Shepard was out there somewhere. She'd been spaced. True to form, her last thoughts had been for her crew. It took weeks for them to finally give up the search for the bodies of the lost crew of the Normandy. Hackett didn't need a psych report to know that the surviving crew was beyond shattered. Alenko and Moreau seemed to be the most affected with survivors' guilt.

The weight of all this rested heavily on his shoulders. The day of Shepard's funeral was sheer torture for all involved. The Alliance Council and the Citadel council had gathered the evening before to make a decision on how to handle the news of her death along with the war against the Geth and the possibility of the Reapers. Hackett and Anderson both fought to keep the truth out in the open, but they were over ruled. It felt like spitting on her grave to then have to make nice with both councils during the funeral. The speeches that were given made his blood boil. The cowards were so afraid of what might come that they preferred to brush it all under the rug. Never mind that in doing so, they were tarnishing the image of a woman that had given everything to discover the truth and save their asses.

Hackett took to the podium to close out the funeral service with a heavy heart.

"_In Flanders fields the poppies blow_

_Between the crosses, row on row,_

_That mark our place, and in the sky,_

_The larks, still bravely singing, fly,_

_Scarce heard amid the guns below._

_We are the dead; short days ago_

_We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,_

_Loved and were loved, and now we lie_

_In Flanders fields._

_Take up our quarrel with the foe!_

_To you from failing hands we throw_

_The torch; be yours to hold it high!_

_If ye break faith with us who die_

_We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_

_In Flanders fields."_

As he stepped back, and noticed that both Alenko and Moreau had stepped forward to place their hands on the empty coffin sitting at the front of the room. He had no words of comfort for the men. Admiral Hackett was ever the Alliance leader. There was no place for overwrought emotions. There was no time to mourn. There was a fleet to rebuild not to mention Geth to hunt down and somewhere in the quiet spaces of his heart and soul, the loss of potential to mourn.

"Admiral Hackett, Sir?"

Hackett turned to find that Alenko had followed him out of the memorial. He waited patiently for the Lieutenant to catch up with him. He noticed that the rest of the Normandy Crew had filed out and were effectively blocking the doors.

"What about the Reapers?" Alenko asked.

"Fuck the Reapers, what about Shepard? What about us?" Joker hobbled slowly towards them. "They can't just sweep us all under the rug. The bastards can't just lie like that. You should've done something."

"Joker!" Alenko tried to restrain him.

"It is out of my hands. I tried to convince both the Alliance Council and the Citadel Council against their decision to blame solely the Geth and hide the Reapers. I was outvoted. Anderson was also ignored," Hackett remarked with a deep sigh. "To quote Mark Twain, 'Looking for an honest _politician_ is like looking for an ethical _burglar_.'"

"But Admiral…" Joker started, only to be silenced by Hackett.

"Shepard deserved a hell of a lot better than the farce of an investigation and ceremony that she received. She deserved…" Hackett remarked. "She deserved more."

"Damn it, that's not enough." Joker shook off Alenko's restraining hand. "You should've fought harder. She died for you fuckers. And all you can say is that she deserved more. She _died_."

Hackett's eyes softened as he watched the pilot visibly crumble before him. "Take him somewhere that he can mourn in private."

Alenko nodded once, blinking back the anger and tears that were in his own eyes. "Yes sir."

Looking more drained that before; Hackett spun on his heels and disappeared. It wasn't until he had reached the solitude of his quarters did he allow grief to take over. He collapsed into a chair; it had taken all of his strength not to snap back at the distraught Moreau. Not that he could really blame Joker, it was maddening to know the truth and not be able to tell the world. It was infuriating to watch slick bastards like Udina praise the brightest light in the Alliance in public while they worked to bury her legacy behind closed doors.

"I will make this right. They will not be allowed to forget what you did." He pulled a set of melted dog tags from underneath his shirt as he spoke. "I won't forget."


End file.
